Enterprise Epicurean
by Aldora89
Summary: A series of K/S ficlets about flirtation involving food. May cause diabetic shock due to insane levels of saccharine fluff.
1. Birthday Cake

**I don't know how many of these there will be yet. They probably come out of me being forced to cook for myself for the first time, so don't read if you're really hungry!**

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Spock stepped back to appraise his handiwork. A vanilla layer cake, perfectly covered with an even, 0.25 centimeter coating of blue icing. At first the substance had been challenging to work with, but once he began thinking of it as a type of electronics paste, the process became easier. He surveyed the rec room around him, observing his crew mates at their respective tasks. Uhura was almost finished setting out the cutlery. Sulu and Chekov were putting up one last line of streamers. The doors opened and Scotty entered the room, taking slow, awkward steps, balancing a large bowl of some sort of beverage. There was a certain efficiency to their work that Spock found agreeable.

"I knew you would make this a flawless job, Mr. Spock." A familiar hand clapped him briefly on the shoulder, and Spock turned around to face the captain, who was examining the cake. "Clearly you've missed your calling as a pastry decorator."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "That is quite the exaggeration."

The captain looked up at Spock, and his smile widened. "Hold still – you've got some icing on your face." Most likely from when he had scratched his forehead approximately two minutes ago, knife still in hand, he thought.

But before Spock could react, the captain reached up and stroked his index finger along Spock's cheek, pulling back to reveal a dab of blue icing. He popped the finger in his mouth, then once again too fast and unexpected for Spock to protest, he scrubbed over the spot again to remove any traces. At the same time he pressed his other hand briefly against the back of Spock's neck, as though to prevent him from pulling away.

"There we are. Not so flawless after all, hmm?"

He shot Spock a mischievous smile, and then he was gone, hurrying off to check on something else before Spock could come up with a response.

Spock knew that as a Vulcan, he should be offended by the unwarranted physical contact, yet he had permitted it. He always seemed to permit things with Jim. The man was a walking extenuating circumstance.

He was still busy contemplating the issue few minutes later, so he was just as startled as Dr. McCoy when the CMO was greeted by a loud chorus of "Surprise!"

Spock shook his head before he joined the festivities, trying to clear a particular image out of his mind. There was no way the captain could have known that to Vulcans, licking one's finger is an obscenely erotic gesture.

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**Fluff fluffity fluff… XD**

**Also, Spock's P.O.V. is freaking hard. But I'm trying to practice for a longer fic I've been messing around with, so we'll see.**


	2. An Alien Feast

"This is spectacular." Jim took another bite of whatever strange potato-like concoction was on his plate. He closed his eyes briefly in a rapture of flavors, each one perfectly balanced and blended. "Just spectacular."

"The K'dar do possess exceptional culinary skills."

"That's an understatement." Jim shoveled more of the mystery food into his mouth and moaned around his fork. He opened his eyes just in time to see Spock raise an eyebrow. "Let me guess. You fail to understand the emotional response to food?"

"I understand on an intellectual level, captain. Food is a necessity; therefore, species have evolved powerful reward circuits linked to its consumption. On a personal level, however, I am at a loss."

"You're saying Vulcans don't have comfort foods? Can't enjoy a good meal?"

"Appreciation of taste need not lead to an emotional reaction."

Jim smiled faintly, and they continued eating for awhile in comfortable silence. The K'dar came in once to refill their drinks, a process which took several minutes, considering all the bows and special gestures.

"What's that you've got there?" Jim asked when they had gone. "The berry things?"

Spock had just picked up some of said item, and he paused with the spoon halfway to his mouth. "A vegetarian counterpart to your meat dish, I suspect."

"It looks good. Can I try?" Feeling playful, Jim leaned forward a bit and opened his mouth, purely in the interest of teasing. He expected another eyebrow raise, and for Spock to push the bowl within his reach. The last thing he expected was for Spock to lift the spoon and actually indulge him.

In that moment the air seemed the hum with tension, and every sensation was oddly crisp. The coolness of the fruit, the wonderful burst of sweetness, the smooth push of metal against his tongue; still faintly warm from Spock's mouth, he realized. He closed his lips tightly around the spoon as Spock drew it back.

If he weren't in such a relaxed, sated mood, Jim might have thought a bit more about sharing an indirect kiss with his first officer. But Spock acted as if nothing unusual had happened, and so he did too. They simply exchanged a friendly, open look, Spock gracing him with one of the almost-smiles that he seemed to reserve only for Jim.

Only later that night, when Jim was trying to sleep, did the strange little butterflies start fluttering around in his stomach. He told himself it was just the alien food.


	3. Savory Similies

As much as Spock disapproved of the fact, gossip was a constant feature amongst the _Enterprise _crew. Some days it seemed to him that the only thing humans were good at was talking about other humans, and it took conscious effort for him to dismiss such an illogical conclusion when the evidence for it seemed to abound.

However, Spock had found that gossip occasionally provided him with insights into human nature and possible ways to improve crew efficiency, so when opportunities to overhear presented themselves, he didn't pass them up. He could usually extract some value out of even the most gossip-laden conversations.

This did not appear to be one such conversation.

"Really, now. Have you ever seen the captain in dress uniform?" The first voice was criticizing, and also male, which most likely narrowed down the ensign's identity to a handful of individuals on board.

"Not bad, I'll admit." The second voice was female. Spock did not recognize the voices, but discussions of the captain's physical attributes were common enough, and not at all useful. He was about to move out of earshot when the female's next statement caught his attention. "But that Mr. Spock… now _he's_ delicious!"

Spock could only assume she was paying him a complement, judging from her tone. Rarely did he hear himself mentioned amongst the casual exchanges of the crew, and despite his better judgment, he was intrigued. He paused and took a step closer to the maintenance tunnel.

"Mr. Spock? I guess he is striking. But he seems so cold."

"Exactly. A tall, cold drink of gorgeous on a hot summer day." The female said.

The colloquialism appeared to be a metaphor, though Spock was unable to perceive any resemblance between himself and a beverage. He was even more perplexed by the male's subsequent question.

"What kind?"

"Lemonade. With a dash of cranberry juice."

The male ensign laughed. "You're out of your mind. I bet he's a pineapple. Looks pretty enough, but is it really worth the effort?"

"I'll have you know I like pineapples."

"You would."

Silence for a few seconds, but Spock correctly guessed that their discussion was not finished. "Well, I think he's an orange." The female said. "Bitter and tough on the outside, but secretly sweet on the inside. Oh, I could just eat him up!"

"I hope you're not talking about cannibalism, ensign." The captain's voice suddenly joined the first two from the other end of the tunnel, and Spock raised an eyebrow at this new development. "I think they court marshal you for that sort of thing."

The two ensigns murmured faltering greetings. "We were, uh… just repairing this circuit, sir." The female said.

"I see. Well I wouldn't want to interrupt your hard work." Spock had been on the receiving end of that tone enough to know when the captain was teasing, but the ensigns had not.

"Sorry, sir. We'll be done in a minute." The male said anxiously. The metallic sounds of tools clinking together echoed down the tunnel.

"Good. We can't let idle chitchat get out of hand. Besides," the captain continued, "you're both off the mark."

"Sir?"

"He's obviously dark chocolate." Though Spock knew it was illogical, he thought he detected a wink based upon the captain's tone.

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**No, I do not absolutely adore asinine alliteration. Why do you ask?**


	4. Temptation

How exactly Spock and Jim had ended up in a Galaxy Burgers (214 star systems served!) in New Jersey at ten o'clock at night was one of serendipity's sillier games. They were supposed to meet McCoy and Sulu in New York City about three hours ago after their meeting with command, but a mishap involving a cancelled shuttle, a broken destination sign, and an incomprehensible stop announcer landed them elsewhere. There was one last shuttle running that night, but in the meantime, it was well past dinner and Jim was hungry.

Hence their visit to the only open eating establishment within walking distance of the station. Jim was overjoyed that his first planetside meal in over three months was going to be fast food from his favorite chain, but Spock was considerably less than thrilled.

"There is nothing of significant nutritional value on this menu."

"That's a bit of an exaggeration." Jim pointed at a mouth-watering picture of the burger he planned to order. "Protein, carbohydrates, vitamins and minerals–"

"I will amend my statement. There is nothing with nutritional benefits that outweigh the detriments." Spock folded up the menu with a look of vague disbelief.

"And that is exactly why it tastes so good."

Their waitress appeared before Spock could retort, and Jim made a mental note to add a little extra to her tip for excellent timing. He ordered the Galactic Classic with all the bells and whistles and a side of fries. Spock ordered water.

That first bite was a piece of heaven. As much as he disliked living off of synthesizer food for months, it always made the reunion with real food that much sweeter. He leaned back in the red pleather and chrome booth and chewed slowly, savoring the juiciness of the burger, the soft give of the bread, the tang of onions and pickles. He attacked the fries next, crisp, golden, and perfect.

Then something occurred to him, and he looked up at Spock, who was reading on his PADD. "You should try one." He pointed to the fries. "They're vegetarian."

Spock considered the idea for a moment. "I believe Dr. McCoy would ask if you were attempting to kill me."

"Not a bad way to go." Jim laughed and held out a fry, hoping to give Spock the subconscious impression that this was not optional. "Oh, and by the way, he never hears about this."

Spock raised an eyebrow noncommittally, but Jim's ploy worked, because he took the offered fry. He studied it as though it were a new alien species, then popped the whole thing in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. Jim searched his face for any sign of a reaction other than mild curiosity.

"Well?" He crossed his arms when Spock had finished.

"Interesting." Spock took a sip of water. "An astonishingly high sodium content."

"That's it?"

"There is little else to observe."

Jim shook his head. "My poor, poor Vulcan friend. You've been so deprived your whole life that your taste buds don't know how to handle such pure delight. That wasn't literal." He added before Spock could express confusion.

He went back to his meal, but after awhile he noticed in his peripheral vision that Spock was staring at him. No, not at him; at his fries. Spock pretended to continue his reading, but he kept sneaking peeks at Jim's plate, and he hadn't turned the page in several minutes. Jim glanced up and surveyed Spock's face.

"You can have another one, you know."

Spock was visibly startled for half a second before he regained his composure. "I appreciate the offer, captain, but no thank you."

"C'mon, Spock. No one here but me, and I won't tell a soul."

Over the years Jim had learned how to read Spock, and the tension in the Vulcan's shoulders told him there was a colossal mental struggle going on between those pointy ears. Finally Spock started to reach for the plate in a slow, deliberate way, as if he thought displaying reluctance would make the action more logical. A mental cheering squad grew louder and louder in Jim's head, but died down with a disappointed groan when Spock stopped halfway.

"Are you certain?" He looked at Jim. "I do not wish to deprive you of a favorite food."

The sight of Spock enjoying a food with no significant nutritional value would make Jim gladly give up his entire order of fries, the captain's chair, and sex. Well, maybe for a few months. "Take as many as you want." He said, trying not to sound as devious as he felt.

"Perhaps just a few. To fully familiarize myself with the taste." Spock added the last part as an afterthought. He took exactly three and ate them one a time.

There was something absurd and wonderful about watching his first officer eat fries surrounded by pseudo mid-twentieth century décor, trying to act as if he didn't want to shove the whole plate into his mouth. He had the same light of discovery in his eyes that Jim had last seen on Joanna's face when Bones introduced her to ice cream.

"You know," Jim said after he finished his burger, and noticed that Spock was still eyeing up the fries, "I think I'm too full. I can't eat any more."

Spock adopted the innocent I'm-just-a-puzzled-alien expression he used for teasing. "I thought you were hungry enough to consume an entire equine."

"Hyperbole and you know it." Jim faked a frown. "But I can't help feeling guilty. Isn't it _illogical_ to waste food?"

Again Spock's shoulders tensed for a moment or two, but this time, he caved in faster than before. "In a superficial sense, I suppose you are correct." Jim wanted to leap up and do a victory lap around the restaurant when Spock pulled the plate toward him.

Spock finished off the fries with all the delicacy and decorum one would normally apply to a five-course gourmet banquet. How someone could eat a finger food and still manage to look like nobility was beyond Jim.

"Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Is there something you wish to ask me?" Jim abruptly realized that he was staring.

"No, it's nothing." He hesitated. "You're just funny." Also strangely adorable, but Jim had thought that for some time, and he had no intention of saying it out loud.

Spock didn't seem to know how to process his statement, so he went back to his fries, but the faint olive tone to his skin darkened ever so slightly. Soon the last bits of golden paradise were gone, and Spock noted that their shuttle would be arriving in ten minutes.

Jim waved over the waitress from where she had been leaning against the bar, chatting with the restaurant's only other patron. "Sorry about that. Slow night." She said. "Would you gentlemen like anything else?"

Well, since the nice lady asked. Jim peered at the back of his menu. "The milkshakes _are_ good here. Maybe I'll get one for the road."

"I thought you were no longer hungry."

"Oh, you believed that?" Jim grinned at Spock, knowing full well that Spock could tell he was lying earlier.

Spock switched gears. "Dr. McCoy would not approve."

"If you throw me to the wolves like that, I'm telling him you ate an entire side of fries."

"Would he believe you?" Spock was practically smiling, he looked so pleased with himself and his chosen defense. Which Jim had to admit, was a pretty damn good one.

"Tell you what." He began, in his best diplomatic voice. "You should know by now that I'm a good judge of taste. So we share the milkshake, keep quiet about it, and I'll take all the blame if he finds out."

Spock said nothing, but he raised an assenting eyebrow.

Jim turned to their thoroughly amused waitress. "Strawberry milkshake to go, please." He said. "Two straws."

The waitress flashed him a knowing grin and hurried off.

"Captain, why–"

"Human tradition, Spock."

Years later, he would come to think of that night as their first date.

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**Wow, these just keep getting longer...**

**Lula1: I'm accusing myself (because of the chapter title)! It would be way too easy to do cutesy alliterative titles for all of these, but that would push the fluff quotient over the recommended safe levels.**

**Thanks so much for the nice reviews, everyone!**


	5. Hot and Cold

**Aaaand now we're moving into established relationship territory. Enjoy!**

Spock had requested shore leave on Risa to participate in an interplanetary symposium on the environmental impact of invasive alien species.

Naturally, Jim assumed it was for a very different reason, even when told repeatedly to the contrary. Even when shown the papers, summary brochures, and schedule of talks. Even when reminded that Vulcans did not lie. He seemed to think that Spock had made up the event as an elaborate scheme for the two of them to take a vacation together. His primary argument consisted of expressions of disbelief that anyone held serious events on Risa.

Subsequently, he had taken his shore leave at the same time and location, despite Spock's insistence that there would be no time for sexual liaisons.

When they arrived and Jim realized that Spock had been telling the truth, his response after the initial surprise and disappointment was to comment on Spock's ability to multitask. Spock did not understand the relevance of his statement until it was followed by a pinch on the buttocks.

But after the first few hours of talks and paper critiques, Jim seemed to realize that multitasking was not an option, and he gave up on following Spock around. At first Spock assumed that Jim had resigned himself to the situation in a mature fashion, but he was proven wrong upon returning to his room that night with a faint headache.

"How did you obtain the key?" Spock turned on the light, as the light of the various candles scattered throughout the room was too dim to navigate an unfamiliar environment by.

Jim frowned from where he was sprawled out on the bed in silk boxer shorts. "_That's_ your first thought when faced with this scenario?"

"I had warned you that I would be busy." Spock interfaced with the _Enterprise _computer and started transferring copies of the files he had obtained that day. "I cannot indulge you tonight."

"Come on." The sheets rustled briefly, and Jim's voice grew closer. "I've had a dozen different people approach me today asking if I seek _jamaharon_, and I don't even have a statue."

Spock gently pulled free of the arms that had closed around his waist from behind. "I have not slept the past two nights in preparation for this event. Should I skip another, my cognitive faculties will begin to decline."

"Well maybe _you _can last a whole night, but some of us can't." Jim's arms encircled him again, and the human's breath was hot on his neck. "Just give me half an hour. I promise you won't regret it."

"I am sorry, Jim, but I do not have half an hour to spare." Spock stepped away again and pushed aside the twinge of guilt at Jim's crestfallen face. He set about putting out the various fire hazards and climbed into bed. "Perhaps you should focus on enjoying your shore leave without me." Silence for a moment. Then Jim sighed, and the sound of the door opening and closing almost made Spock flinch.

Amazingly, over the next few days, it appeared that Jim was taking his advice. They managed to eat a few meals together, and each time Jim had a story about attending a wind surfing class, or meeting an old academy friend, or even taking a botanical tour. Not once did he complain about the lack of amorous activities. He spent the night in his own room without comment. Before long, Spock's inquisitive nature began to overanalyze the issue.

It was illogical that this lack of attention could conversely increase his own romantic awareness of Jim. The less Jim attempted to seduce him, the more Spock expected him to try. The less time he spent around Spock, the more of a distraction he became.

The symposium began to wind down, and on the second to last day of shore leave, one of the evening's talks was cancelled. By this time Spock was reasonably refreshed from several nights of uninterrupted sleep, and unduly curious about Jim's content yet disinterested behavior.

After a much longer search than he expected, he found Jim standing by a vendor of frozen desserts near the hotel pool, considering the menu. Jim smiled when he saw Spock approach, but didn't offer his hand for a Vulcan kiss until Spock initiated the gesture.

"I wanted to inform you that I am free after dinner." Spock said, struggling to keep his eyes on Jim's face. It was unexpectedly difficult when Jim wore only swim shorts.

Something positively gleeful crossed Jim's expression. The carefree air about him that had persisted throughout their recent interactions vanished in an instant, replaced with pure mischief.

"Oh, I'm sorry Spock, I forgot to tell you. I have a social call with the Federation representative for this district tonight, so I won't be in until late." He spoke with a casual tone, but Spock could detect the barely-contained amusement in his eyes as he addressed the vendor. "Popsicle." He said slowly, gaze still fixed on Spock. "Lime, if you have it."

Spock consciously suppressed the increase in his heart rate. "Then I shall wait up for you."

"I thought you might." Jim gave the dessert a quick, suggestive lick that implied he intended for it to last as long as physically possible.

Spock contemplated the meaning of the human term "payback."


	6. A Taste of Home

**Does Vulcan hand-porn qualify as T or M? This is pretty non-explicit by my standards, but it might be pushing it a little, so I apologize if I offend anyone. **

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"Tonight. Sixteen hundred hours. Kitchen." Jim jabbed a finger playfully into Spock's shoulder. "We're making a pizza."

Spock raised an eyebrow and looked up from the viewscreen. "Captain?"

"I'm tired of replicator food." Jim said. "So I called in a favor from one of my favorite places back on Earth. Secret family recipe."

"No one else was available to assist you in this endeavor?"

"McCoy and Uhura are planetside until Thursday, Scotty's running maintenance all week, and Sulu and Chekov are too busy." Jim grinned at him. "You're not getting out of this."

Nor did he try to; he was already there when Jim arrived, putting away a few of the things left out from Uhura's sundae social the previous night. Jim paused by the door to watch for a moment before he made his presence known, always thrilled at Spock's willingness to indulge in 'human frivolities' for his sake.

"Perhaps I shall teach you how to make plomeek soup one day." Spock remarked as Jim passed him the recipe for made-from-scratch tomato sauce. He proceeded to examine it with the kind of intensity that told Jim he was converting old-fashioned measurements to standard metric.

"I'll hold you to that." Jim set out the ingredients he had bought earlier and started to paw through the cabinets, feeling more than a little lost. He couldn't remember the last time he had used the kitchen. Ask him to outmaneuver a Romulan warbird and he'd do it with his eyes closed. Ask him to find the pizza pan that he just _knew _was in here somewhere, and he was hopeless.

"Captain." He barely caught Spock's voice over the din of another contained metallic avalanche. He pulled his head out of the cabinet, ears ringing, and decided his next executive order would involve a great deal of drawer-labeling and organization.

Spock held out a round, flat pan, and Jim laughed. "What would I do without you?"

"Most likely injure yourself with cooking implements." Jim whacked him across the backside with a spoon, and Spock pretended to be dismayed.

They worked in companionable silence for a time, and Jim mulled over how strangely, perfectly mundane it had all become. Five years ago, who could have guessed that he would fall head over heels for his aloof first officer? That Spock would somehow put aside his inhibitions and embrace that love? If someone had told him back then, he would have laughed them to the next galaxy.

Now here they were, sharing their duties, their quarters, and their lives in ways Jim never imagined he would experience. It almost made him believe in miracles.

"Captain," He turned to find Spock holding out his index finger, the tip covered in tomato sauce, eyes dark with intent. "Does this taste correct?"

Speaking of miracles…

Jim gaped at Spock in disbelief, hands frozen mid-knead on top of the dough. Was Spock actually coming on to him in a public place? Not that anyone used the kitchen on a regular basis, but you never knew. Then something caught his eye over Spock's shoulder; an uncapped bottle of chocolate sauce still sitting out on the counter.

Well, that explained it.

Jim wondered if he should reflect on the moral quandary of taking advantage of his inebriated first officer. Then he got over it. The notion of an uninhibited Spock was far too appealing.

He took Spock's wrist in both flour-streaked hands and pulled the Vulcan a step closer with his best seductive smile. Delicately he placed the very tip of Spock's finger against his lips with just enough pressure to part them and earn him a faint shudder. Then he kissed the pad of the finger, quickly licked the tomato sauce away, and worked his way down, trailing languid kisses over each joint. He took care to vary the pressure of every kiss to keep Spock on the edge of his seat, occasionally letting his tongue and teeth come into play.

"Jim…" That small, breathy sound made sweat spring to his forehead, and desire kickstart his heartbeat. He put all the weaknesses he had carefully gathered over their years together to good use, nipping at the creases beneath Spock's knuckles, licking the webbing between his fingers.

By this time, Spock had uncurled his other fingers, and Jim was more than happy to apply the same treatment to each one. His thumb trailed up the underside of Spock's wrist to rub slow circles into his palm, and he watched in delight as Spock's eyes fluttered closed.

The tension built until Spock was on the verge of panting, and there was a noticeable, more distinctly human reaction elsewhere on his body. Jim decided it was time to up the ante. Without warning he closed his mouth over two long Vulcan fingers and sucked hard. Spock inhaled sharply and grasped at the counter behind him with his free hand. He tried and failed to stifle a moan, and Jim almost melted into a puddle of self-satisfaction.

After a moment he abandoned his task, purely in the interest of teasing. "Feels good?" He made sure to let his breath ghost over Spock's fingers.

Spock made a small sound of protest. "Yes… Oh Jim, please… don't stop." Jim was more than happy to oblige.

It wasn't much longer before Spock's head fell back, and his free hand clutched at Jim's shoulder in a brief, painful grip. Jim stopped to pull him closer and press a kiss against the side of his neck as he let out a final, involuntary cry. Spock stood there for a minute while the tremors passed, eyes closed and breathing hard, and Jim tucked his arms loosely around his waist, waiting for him to recover.

"Are you all right?"

Spock blinked a few times. "I am… a bit disoriented."

"Well, that's what you get for guzzling chocolate sauce." Jim chuckled.

"I did not consume any chocolate sauce." Spock tensed against him. "Additionally, that is a myth."

"What?"

"Chocolate does not intoxicate Vulcans. The idea is entirely a human invention."

Jim's mind, which had been humming along pleasantly until then, came to a screeching halt. He motioned toward the chocolate sauce, then Spock, making vague, helpless gestures. "Then what… you were… what was all that about?"

"As you would put it, I was simply 'in the mood.' You drew your own conclusions as to the reason." Spock arched an eyebrow.

"You tricky, pointy-eared..." Jim laughed and took Spock's face in his hands. "You did that on purpose, didn't you?" He nodded toward the chocolate sauce.

Spock maintained a completely neutral expression. "I do not know what you are referring to, captain."

"Of course you don't."

Jim leaned in, stopped when they were an inch apart, and waited with a sly grin. Patience is a virtue, he told himself as Spock stared at him evenly. It was extraordinarily difficult to hold back, but he knew if he could restrain himself long enough, Spock would roll his eyes and close the gap.

A half hour later his patience was paid off with interest, a severely traumatized Dr. McCoy, and one very unfinished pizza.

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**OMG TOS LOL.**

**In other news: **_**I believe in miracles… since you came along… you sexy thang.**_


	7. Breaking the Fast

Spock was not expecting the bed to be empty when he awoke. While 5.23 hours of sleep was more than sufficient for him, it was well below the ideal amount for a human. Especially when said human had just gone directly from fourteen days of exhaustive negotiations to spending most of his first night back 'reacquainting' himself with Spock.

But while the bed was empty, his quarters were not. He could hear movement coming from the sitting area, see a familiar shadow on the wall through the ajar door. He lay there silently for a few minutes, appreciating the warmth of the room around him, the sensation of sheets against bare skin. Soon footsteps approached the door, and Jim appeared, peering around the frame.

He looked fatigued, but incredibly pleased with himself. He grinned at Spock, the kind of devious, lazy grin that according to Dr. McCoy, he always wore for twenty-four hours after he had 'gotten laid real good.' Spock had observed it many times throughout the years, never suspecting that one day he would be directly responsible for such an expression.

"Look who's finally up." Jim said. "G'morning."

"Good morning." Spock rolled onto his side to face the door. "I am surprised to find you awake this early."

"Me too. Force of habit, I guess. The delegation meetings were all before oh eight hundred." Jim stepped entirely into the doorway, the too-large Vulcan robe he wore askew and belted sloppily around his waist. "I'm synthesizing breakfast. What do you want?"

Spock thought for a moment. "Waffles."

"Really?" Jim ran a hand through mussed hair and gave him an incredulous look.

"I would prefer blueberry, if the database has them." Spock hesitated. "Is that so unusual? I was under the impression that waffles were not an atypical meal for this time of day."

"No, you're right. I just wouldn't take you for the waffles type."

"Their engineering intrigues me."

Jim leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, his grin widening. "Go on."

Even after spending half his life amongst them, some human nuances still eluded Spock. For example, he wasn't entirely certain if Jim was teasing, or genuinely curious, or some combination of both. Regardless, he decided to elaborate and make it clear that his statement had a rational basis.

"They possess a surprisingly logical design for something invented by humans. The grid of coffer-like depressions efficiently contains viscous toppings, while at the same time maintaining the structural integrity of the cake. Their relative thinness lends itself to easy division and consumption, and I find the textural variation between the sponge-like interior and crunchy exterior interesting. Furthermore, the addition of blueberries can serve to supplement their admittedly low nutritional value."

One second Jim was staring at him, the next he was back in bed, pinning Spock to the mattress and sealing their lips together. "My God, you… you're just…" He panted between kisses that tasted faintly of coffee, then pulled back and gazed down at Spock. "You're something else."

Before Spock could question what the point of comparison was, Jim curled a hand around the back of his head and engaged him in another round of slowly deepening kisses. While Jim was never precisely insatiable as various rumors suggested – regardless of his considerable erotic abilities, the refractory period still applied – he was certainly a challenge to keep up with, particularly at times like these. Spock had always enjoyed challenges.

"I missed you," Jim murmured, the next time he paused for air.

"I had noticed."

"You and your ridiculous idiosyncrasies."

"Ridiculous, captain?"

Jim was evidently too busy adding to the bruises on his neck to come up with an appropriate response. "And you calling me that." He mumbled, breath pleasantly warm against Spock's skin. "No one says it quite like you."

"I fail to see how the verbal expression of your rank could differ in significance between individuals. Captain." He added the title as a deliberate, slightly emphasized afterthought, and Jim moaned against his throat.

"Trust me, it does." Jim trailed a hand down Spock's waist, pushing the sheets as he went, and his thumb idly stroked over an exposed hip.

Spock shifted a bit to lean into the touch, and was temporarily distracted by the careless knot holding Jim's borrowed robe together, well within his reach. That thought was pushed aside when he calculated that it had been at least fourteen hours since Jim had last eaten. "Do you think it is prudent to do this before breakfast?"

"We need to make up for lost time."

"You have only been away for two weeks."

"That long?" Jim chuckled. "Don't know how I survived."

"I can only assume it involved copious amounts of autoeroticism."

"You bet." He could feel Jim's smile through the brush of teeth just below his ear. Jim lowered his voice to that hushed, sly murmur that made it unusually difficult for Spock to think. "I would have video comm'd you, but I'm fairly sure they monitored our transmissions." He dragged a hand over Spock's stomach, then made a quick, exploratory pass a little lower.

"Jim – _ah_! Jim, wait."

"Hmm?" Jim's fingers traced teasing circles around his navel, and he leaned back to look at Spock with heavy-lidded eyes. The instinct to push toward that touch, seek it out again was powerful, and Spock struggled few seconds to remember what he had intended to say.

He meant to sound resolved, to be the proverbial voice of reason and urge Jim that foregoing nourishment any longer was not a sound decision. He intended to discuss the importance of a regular metabolic schedule, of replenishing energy stores no doubt lost during the several hours spent in strenuous physical activity the previous night.

Instead he looked up at Jim's earnest, hopeful face, and all he could come up with was a noncommittal, "I am hungry."

"Well I'm _starving_." Jim licked along the edge of Spock's ear with a quiet chuckle. "The waffles can wait."

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**A/N: Great, now I want to go raid an IHOP or something…**

**Also, thanks for the comments everyone! I wish you many hypothetical waffles (or pancakes, or your breakfast food of choice)!  
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	8. Guilty Pleasure

**Wow... it's been forever since I posted. Apparently school is not conducive to writing fanfiction!**

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_/Request denied_./

Jim mashed the synthesizer button again before he could fully process that statement.

_/Request denied_./ The chipper, computerized reiterated helpfully.

He stared at the control panel for a good five seconds. He rubbed his eyes and double checked the buttons to make sure he hadn't been pressing 'cancel' the whole time like a complete dolt. "Computer. Explain."

/_Requesting any meal with over 20% the recommended daily value of saturated fat requires secondary command approval./ _

Jim narrowed his eyes, as if he could intimidate the synthesizer into compliance. In the pit of his stomach, he could feel the kind of abstract, all-consuming irritation bubbling up that he usually only attached to tribbles and certain Starfleet politicians. "What?"

/_Requesting any meal with over 20% - _/

"Cease explanation." Jim snapped. It was probably his imagination, but he could have sworn the computer's voice had sounded sarcastic the second time around. He clenched his hand that was planted against the wall into a fist. "Computer, who is responsible for this protocol?"

/_Chief Medical Officer McCoy_./

"_Damn_ him. I should have known." Jim muttered, then glanced around the room, as if McCoy could hear him. It was an irrational instinct he had developed after one too many lectures in the mess hall; the doctor always seemed to catch him on the days he felt like indulging. When he was sure the coast was clear of his dietary shoulder angel, he got to work.

Five minutes and a pinch of hacking later, he had found and corrected the little bug in the synthesizer's programming. He inserted the chocolate chip cookies cartridge into the slot again, crossed his fingers, and pressed the button. Sure enough, the synthesizer hummed to life, and Jim grinned smugly to himself. They were a far cry from mom's fresh-baked finest, but sometimes he just had to settle.

He opened the synthesizer door to reveal a very green, very unappetizing salad.

In the wake of this puzzle, his mind shouldered rage to the side and switched into overdrive. Rage could wait until after he had his cookies.

By all of his estimates, the program should be back to normal. The tacked-on piece of extra coding was erased into oblivion where it belonged. Clearly there was something else embedded in the program, something so subtle and insidious that he had missed it entirely. Something meant to sabotage any potential sabotage. There were only so many people on the ship clever enough to pull that off.

One of them had just walked through the door.

"Mr. Spock."

Spock took one look at him and the synthesizer's leafy offering and promptly diverted his attention to his PADD. "Yes, Jim?"

Oh no you don't, he thought. You're not placating me with familiarities. "_Mr. Spock_, my synthesizer is malfunctioning."

"Are you certain?"

"Have you ever seen me willingly order one of these before?"

"Unfortunately not." Spock was still refusing to look at him. Instead he placed the PADD down on the desk, stripped off his blue science shirt, and headed for the bathroom door that adjoined their quarters. "If you'll excuse me, I require meditation."

Jim recognized a ploy when he saw one. Spock knew perfectly well how distracting Jim found him in that tight-fitting undershirt, and he had probably planned to render Jim speechless until he made his escape. "Wait just a minute." Jim choked out before Spock managed to slide the door halfway open. He tore his eyes away from the shift of slender muscles in Spock's back and arms. Why did he have to look so damn good in black?

"Yes, Jim?"

"If you'd fix my synthesizer first," Jim said, slowly and deliberately, "I would be much obliged."

Spock hesitated, but made his way across the room without further comment and took Jim's place in front of the synthesizer control panel. As he tapped hastily on the screen, his posturing wavered somewhere between a kicked puppy and a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The latter, Jim thought, was a rather apt analogy considering the circumstances. Then Spock stepped aside with a nod and turned to leave so quickly that he stirred up a breeze. He was entirely too solemn for Jim's liking, enough to deflate Jim's sense of victory.

"Are you all right?"

"I am… concerned, captain." Spock said, hesitating again with his hand on the bathroom door. Captain, now hmm? Must be official ship's business. Jim put his intended cartridge down on the table and crossed his arms to listen. "A member of this crew has exhibited troubling behavior lately."

"It's Brendan, isn't it? I talked to him about the xenophobic jokes, but–"

"It is not Ensign Brendan." Spock said, and turned to face Jim with an absolutely unreadable poker face. "This crew member is in the command department. His cholesterol is higher than it ought to be, and despite a fairly rigorous exercise regimen, he is over forty, and his metabolism cannot operate at the levels that it once did. His family background suggests that there is cause for concern in the coming years should he not alter his habits now." Spock fell silent for half a second, and his eyes turned to the floor, the way they always did when he was struggling with how to word something. "It would be more… logical if he would attempt to prolong his life rather than ignore the advice of those who care for him."

By the time Spock had finished, Jim felt like his heart was trying to throttle him to death. "I see." He said, after a long and somewhat awkward pause.

"If you'll excuse me, captain?"

"Hold on. Haven't you forgotten something?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Have I?" Enough of the gravity in the room dissipated that Jim didn't feel like a sentimental old fool anymore. He approached Spock and extended two fingers.

Spock looked at him thoughtfully, then returned the gesture with a slight downward brush against his knuckle, a promise for the evening ahead. Jim flashed Spock his best sultry grin, and Spock pretended to be appalled. He left Jim alone with his conscience.

Jim sat down hard at the table and glowered at the salad. It glowered back at him with coincidentally placed carrot eyes.

"Hell," he grumbled as he speared a lettuce leaf.


	9. A Drink with Old Friends

**Last one in this series! Seems like a good, neutral POV to end on after alternating Kirk and Spock for awhile.**

**Disregards **_**Generations**_**, because COME ON.**

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Leonard resisted the urge to leap up when he heard the sound of a distant car, cruising down the long country highway. After two false alarms and a pulled muscle to show for his enthusiasm, he forced himself to stay put and keep reading. But then the sound changed as the car slowed down, so he seized his cane, hauled himself to his feet with a groan, and limped over to the window.

Sure enough, there was a blue Nova cruiser pulling under the big oak tree in his front yard, hoverpads stirring up dust and bits of gravel. The glare of the midday Georgia sun on the windshield was too intense for him to peer inside, but he was already seeing the familiar faces in his mind's eye.

He hurried to the door as fast as his back would allow and struggled for a minute to tug it open, swearing at the humidity. Finally he won the battle, and the well-baked air of summer came rushing in just as the cruiser's doors opened.

"Jimmy!" He shouted.

"Bones!" The younger man laughed and half walked, half jogged up to the porch, leaving the cruiser door ajar behind him. Leonard felt a brief twinge of envy at his friend's spryness. Whatever happened to the days when one-hundred seemed old, he wondered with an inward smile at himself.

Even so, he still had to adjust his mental pictures every time he saw Jim. For some reason whenever they hadn't seen one another in a few months, the images always reverted back to Jim as captain of the _Enterprise_, more than a few decades out of date. He noted the gray in Jim's hair, the lines on his face that seemed just a little deeper than before.

Then Jim had reached him and pulled him into a crushing embrace. Leonard bit his lip against his back's protests and put an arm around Jim, leaning heavily on the cane with the other.

"So good to see you." Jim murmured, and Leonard sang silent praise to the angels when Jim let go with a final squeeze. He basked in Jim's smile for a moment, so open and genial that sometimes he could hardly believe his friend didn't hail from the south too.

He turned to Spock, who had strolled over in the meantime and was making his way up the porch steps, studying his surroundings with obvious curiosity. He looked distinctly out of place, not so much because of the ears or eyebrows, but rather the fact that he wore dark, traditional Vulcan robes in ninety-degree weather without a hint of discomfort. He reached their level and turned his attention to Leonard.

"Doctor." He nodded once, and judging purely from his eyes, he was beaming just as wide as Jim.

Leonard smiled and returned the nod. "Mr. Spock." Ah, what the hell; it had been over a year. "C'mere, you stand-offish, pointy-eared–" He bit his lip against his back and caught Spock in a hug, and although the Vulcan stiffened slightly at the touch, he assented to it with an awkward pat.

Jim chuckled at them and leaned against one of porch columns. "How are you, Bones?"

Leonard snorted. "Could be better. Damn near threw out my back earlier. And don't start fretting like a mother hen, I'll get it fixed Monday at the clinic." He shook off the concerned hand Jim placed on his shoulder and held the door open for them. "Well, come on in. Not all of us are gifted with that green excuse for blood."

They followed him into the foyer, Jim sighing gratefully at the cool air.

"There's gumbo on the stove, but it's got a little while left to go." Leonard said, the hospitality his mother had drilled into his head since he could crawl taking over. "How 'bout some mint julep?"

"That would really hit the spot."

"Thank you, doctor."

Leonard retrieved the pitcher and three glasses with ice from the kitchen, and took a moment to check on the gumbo. He returned to the foyer just in time to hear Spock ask Jim teasingly, as he wiped his brow with a sleeve, why humans inhabited climates that they found exceedingly unpleasant.

They all settled down in the sitting room, Jim and Spock picking seats by the window, Leonard gratefully sinking into the cushioned chair across from them both. An atmosphere of familiar ease settled over them, and for several seconds no one spoke. They just sat and looked around the room, exchanging silent smiles, soaking up each others' presence as Leonard poured the mint julep.

"How's T'Kel?" He asked after a minute.

"Good. Great. Doesn't write often enough, but what can you do?" Jim shrugged and looked vaguely wistful. Leonard offered him a sympathetic smile, remembering when Joanna had first left home.

"She is currently serving on board the _U.S.S. Tesla_, and was recently promoted to lieutenant." Spock picked up where Jim had left off, his voice smooth with pride. "And as I recall, Jim, she wrote fifteen days ago."

"Like I said, not often enough." Jim took a long first sip of his drink. "This is fantastic, Bones."

"Mint from my garden, water from the tap, and bourbon from great-granddaddy's best stash." He quipped. "Personally, I think it's the mint."

"I've no doubt." Jim nodded and tipped his glass to Leonard. "And how are Joanna and Rick?"

"Doing fine." He looked from Jim to Spock, then back to Jim with a faint smile. "Anniversary trip, right?" Jim nodded, and Leonard shook his head in disbelief. "So how long has it been now?"

"Twenty-three years?" Jim glanced at Spock with a furrowed brow, and the Vulcan tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, the way he did when he was about to show off.

"Twenty-five years, seven months, nine days, fourteen hours. Approximately."

Jim frowned and stared at his glass, lips moving silently for a moment before he turned back to Spock. "Wait, what're you counting from?" Before Spock answered, he broke into a slow, shy grin, and suddenly seemed to get very thirsty, finishing off the rest of his drink in one go. He was a little too flushed for whatever lingering effects the heat could have had.

"Not sure I want to know." Leonard muttered.

"Indeed." Spock watched Jim in obvious amusement, and when Jim finally sat the glass down with a gasp and clink of ice, Spock brushed his fingers briefly over the other man's. For a moment everything seemed so still and peaceful. Golden light filtered through the curtains, casting lacy shadows all around them, and the muted drone of the locusts outside was like a lullaby.

Leonard leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, strangely thrilled that Spock had allowed him to be privy to such an overt display of affection. "Well still," he said, to break things up before they started to give him cavities, "over twenty. Can't believe it's been that long. I'll never forget how nervous this one was at the ceremony." He jerked his head toward Spock, who raised an innocent eyebrow.

Jim gaped at him, then at Spock. "No!"

"Never told you, did I? His IDIC pin was on upside-down." Leonard said, taking devilish pleasure in embarrassing the hobgoblin. "Had to fix it for him. And he had that face. You know, the one he usually got when you were in trouble."

"Where he looks like he's about to step up to the gallows?"

"Yeah, that's it." Leonard took another gulp of his drink to hide his smile.

"How come I couldn't tell?" Jim rounded on Spock.

"I had suppressed the emotion well before the ceremony began." Spock said nonchalantly. "You, on the other hand–"

"Oh, shut up."

"Now, now, Jim. You looked picture-perfect to me." Leonard teased.

"Hey, I think I was pretty damn sharp for someone recovering from the worst case of the flu he's ever had." Jim shot Leonard look that was both fond and exasperated. "Too bad 23rd century medicine hasn't solved that one."

Spock murmured something low and reassuring in Vulcan, and Leonard been around them long enough to recognize the word '_t'hy'la._' Jim smiled and grew quiet, looking inordinately pleased with himself.

"I thought hobgoblins weren't allowed to lie." Leonard jabbed an accusatory finger toward Spock.

They both stared at him, Spock's eyes widened slightly in surprise he couldn't conceal. "How did you–" Jim began.

"He just said you were the prettiest princess at the ball. My Vulcan's a little rusty, I know, but I think I got the gist."

"More or less." Jim laughed and flushed again. "And it wasn't a lie, just ridiculous exaggeration. Spock, mind if I…"

"Of course." Jim reached for Spock's half-full mint julep with a murmur of thanks. Leonard was thrown off for a minute, trying to figure out if that was the telepathy at work or just plain old familiarity. He almost missed Spock's quieter statement. "It was no exaggeration."

Then the stove beeped right on cue, and Leonard rolled his eyes at them as he clamored to his feet to hobble off to the kitchen, turning away as fast as he could to hide his involuntary grin.

"No automatic yet, Bones? What is this, 1880?"

"The automatic stove only went into widespread use after the mid-21st century."

"Close enough. Want some help?" Jim called after Leonard, knowing full well what his response would be.

"I'm old, not dead." He snapped good-naturedly over his shoulder.

He stirred the gumbo for a few seconds and gave it an experimental taste before setting the pot on an unused burner. He paused and watched the wispy patterns of steam as he listened to the muffled conversation from the other room; something about unruly students at the academy, and Saavik's new professorship there.

He must be getting sentimental in his old age, because the prospect of hanging around the lovebirds for the next few days didn't bother him in the least. They radiated a strange kind of warmth when they were together, of a far more pleasant variety than the summer heat wave. At one time he would have been exasperated, or jaded, or maybe a little jealous, but now he was content to bask in the glow.

He knew couples half their age who had lost the spark. Hell, he knew a lot of folks who balked at 10-year marriage contracts, let alone permanent telepathic bonds. But then again, Jim and Spock were something else.

Leonard paused with his hand on the cabinet handle and decided to break out the good china. It had always been Natira's favorite.

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**And here endeth the fluff overdose.**

**I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, everyone!**


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